Open House
by Paradoqz
Summary: Mind is a strange place. The mind of a Summers is a REALLY strange place. The mind of Cable...


  
Disclaimer: None of the characters mentioned in this story belong to me.   
They are all owned by Marvel Entertainment Group. Neither am I making any   
money off this. 

Feedback and flames are welcome.   
*** 

Open House   


I am alive again..... What a feeling it is to once again roam the reaches of   
the astral plane. The freedom - it is truly indescribable. Once more to be   
free to delve into the darkest, most carefully hidden secretes. Small,   
precious gems tucked away in the farthest corners of their little minds. I do not yet   
know who broke my shackles, perhaps I shall endeavor to find out later. For now however I   
shall simply enjoy my freedom. 

Cattle... beware. Amahl Farouk is back.   


*** 

* Jean 's down. No hint from her as to the cause... I knew this plan was   
pure madness, LeBeau. I flonqing told you that I should have been the one to   
go! Come on, Jean... Pipe! Her mind is shuttered tighter than Fort Knox...   
This _might_ just mean that she is simply attempting a deeper than usual   
scan... Yeah, and Nur is simply misguided. Something is very flonqing wrong   
here. * 

Turning away from Jean's prone body, back to the one-way glass, Cable   
flicked an irritated glare at the trio on the other side. The sight simply   
served to farther fuel his ire. Gambit was not absently filing his nails any   
more, but he still lounged in the chair with the ease worthy of a sultan in the   
middle of his seraglio. Nathan scowled. Remy had no business looking so   
relaxed. It was all his fault in the first place. Damn Cajun. 

Unbidden, the memories of the events leading up to the present flashed   
through his mind. Meeting up with Jean in Venice during the Carnival,   
attack by the Shockwave Riders, Gambit's request to accompany him to Russia   
to help a friend. Discovery of the renegade Neo faction and a slave ring...   
An eventful couple of months to be sure. 

The scowl deepened as Cable transferred his glare from Gambit to the   
obscenely obese, handcuffed prisoner, sitting across the table from the   
X-Men leader. 

Tullamore Voge. The Slaver. The genetic testing and scanning showed   
him to be a regular, baseline human. There should have been no difficulty   
with raking his mind. Should have been... 

In of itself the unexpected strength of his shields was not surprising. If   
one had good teachers and a strong will, mental defenses were achievable. Still, when one combined that fact with Jean's sudden catatonia... Dammit. He should have been the   
one to do it. 

The scowl deepened farther still. Voge is looking almost on par with Gambit,   
with that relaxed air about him. He's waiting for a rescue. And he's damn   
sure it will come. Much surer than he has any right to be, considering that Deb   
Levin, the Russian cop is still standing behind him, cleaning her gun. 

And she has ample reason to use it. They sprung her from the Slaver's HQ   
only days ago. As loath as he was to admit it... the first part of the Cajun's plan   
worked perfectly. Deb's sudden draw of the gun and letting off a blank round   
rattled the Slaver enough to let Phoenix in, past his shields, undetected.   
And now she's zombified. Flonq! 

*Enough of this crap. I'm going after her... Piggybacking on her trail   
should get me in there. Screw LeBeau and his fancy plan.* 

*** 

It is always a strange thing to enter a mind. Always unique. Always scary.   
You feel yourself letting go, projecting your consciousness onto the astral   
plane. Your heart falls in your chest and adrenaline rush makes your head   
light. 

Jean's trail was delicate, like a silk thread, but visible if you   
know what you were looking for. Phoenix force gives off a rather   
unmistakable scent. However the farther he delved into the Voge's mind, the more sure   
Cable became of another presence. A very familiar presence with a metallic,   
faintly acrid 'smell.' 

*Who the flonq would be using Cerebro... Frost? But why contact Jean... If   
the Academy in trouble, then she would have tried for the Westchester...   
Makes no sense. Enough! Focus on the business at hand. Just follow   
Jean's trail.* 

"And meet the fate intended for her!" 

Blaquesmith used to tell him that if he would school his mind enough, if his   
discipline was strong enough, he could block out the pain inflicted by the   
astral attack. Damn liar. 

"Ow." 

"Whenever will you learn Cable... you will never be a match for me!" 

"Sure, kick me while I'm down," muttering sullenly, Cable gathered himself   
and hastily wove a shield wall around himself, "Who are you anyw... oh   
noooo... Only one guy wears that tacky pink monstrosity. Onslaught?!" 

The crimson-clad figure chuckled ominously, "Could be." 

Feeling strangely lightheaded, Cable smiled acidly, as he assessed the   
situation, "Damn it. Does no one has the decency to just die and stay dead   
anymore?" 

Seemingly ignoring Cable's words, and his attempts to shield himself, the   
figure continued unperturbed, "...or the outfit could just be a masquerade."   
  


The astral plane is ever changing. It's an ever mutating entity of strange   
colors and weirdly fascinating lights. But some things are constant. Among them -   
the shadows. 

The shadows permeate the plane. They cloak the masters and   
scare the novices. The shadows are the essence of the astral plane. They   
also help to make this a hell of a melodramatic place. Every two-bit psi   
thinks that he or she invented the "Dramatically stepping out of the   
shadows" routine. Irritating as all damnation. So it was not the act itself that   
impressed Cable but rather the face revealed, as the darkness crept away. 

"Jean?!" 

The delicate features, framed by the red helmet and the scarlet curls, move   
slightly to form a chiding smile, "Remember, Nathan Dayspring, on the   
mental plane, anything is possible..." 

The familiar emerald eyes blaze with an unholy light and turn white, the   
smile strains into a snarl of rage as the armor mutates into a spiked   
cocoon, "... and nothing is ever quite what it seems. When you behold the   
face of the gorgon, do you ever wonder... if you're looking into a mirror?" 

The spiked fist snakes out and shatters his shield with almost contemptuous   
ease and just before the darkness claims him all that he can think of is   
"What the HELL was that supposed to mean?!!" and..."I should have known...   
Jean has a much better fashion sense." 

The darkness is stifling, binding, choking. It pushes him down and shackles   
him. The thick fog seems to have blinded him. He can still sense vaguely   
what is happening. He can see as the crimson-armored figure mutates into a   
visage of Farouk. He can see as the tentacles spread all across his mind and   
take over his body. As Remy is felled by his own hand, by his own psimitar -   
all he can do is watch. 

***   


"Ahhhh. Tis glorious indeed. This... psimitar is a fabulous weapon. Such a   
pity that the skill with which Nathan Dayspring Summers wields is not   
equaled by his skill in defense of his soul and body. How delicious... You   
can still see this, can't you, Dayspring? Pity, but I won't allow you to   
remember any of this. The X-Men do not even realize how vulnerable they have   
just become. Muahahaha..." 

"Yeah... And who the fesk are you?" 

One of the most important things when delivering a suitably dramatic and   
sinister 'muahaha,' is not to be interrupted. It's very difficult to pick up   
the thread again, without looking extremely foolish. So it's understandable   
that the Shadow King was annoyed at this intrusion. Being the man of   
considerable intellect and legendary self-control however, he let his   
discomposure be known in a most refined manner, 

"Eh?" 

The tall figure that emerged from the cluttered mindscape of Cable's   
psyche, rubbed his eyes and gave Farouk another look. Another irritated,   
bleary-eyed, don't-mess-with-me-I-didn't-have-my-coffee-yet look. "I said   
who the hell are you and why the hell are you screeching like a raped   
goat?" 

"What?! You dare... I am the Shadow King, and soon you shall rue the day you   
decided to meddle in my affairs!" 

The tall silver-haired projection took his hands away from his face with a   
long, profoundly tired sigh, "First of all, you stupid idiot, this is MY   
business and it is YOU who is meddling . Secondly - you are a dick. Get the   
hell out of mah house. You bettah recognize, fool!" 

The Shadow King doesn't get taken by surprise. He's among the ten most   
powerful telepaths in the world. His skill is perhaps unsurpassed by any but   
Xavier himself. 

Amahl Farouk therefore NEVER loses composure. He only   
stuttered because... he was lulling his opponent into a false sense of   
security. Yes, that's it. Lulling is very important. "B...But...it's...It   
can't be you! You are not you! It's impossible!" 

"I assure you, I am in fact me." 

Finally collecting his thoughts, Farouk attempted a cautious probe and to   
his surprise, and a slight embarrassment, realized that the man before him was   
not Cable, although their psi-patterns were remarkably similar. 

"Hmmm, a construct. I didn't realize Dayspring had enough power to affect   
such a defense mechanism... Still... you have no hope against me, object. With your   
master's mind safely in my thrall, I shall dispose of you in moments." 

"What did you call me, you blimp?!! I am no flonqing construct! I am Stryfe. 

I am the flonqing Chaos Bringer!" 

"Simply marvelous. A delusion who has hallucinations. Dayspring, you simply   
MUST see a good therapist when you come to. I'll even do you a favor and   
dispose of this bothersome... thing." 

Stryfe, completely awake and not a little pissed at this point, smiled with   
patent insincerity, "Oh, you will, will you? Bring it on, fat boy." 

Moments later the Chaos Bringer picked himself up from the deep crater,   
which his head created upon impact onto the mindscape, "I guess you are sensitive   
to your condition, eh?" 

"Silence! I'll have you know that although my projection form tends to mimic   
my first corporeal body, I am still more then capable of erasing you from your   
miserable existence! Besides, it's just water retention anyway!" 

"You were just a big-boned boy, huh?" 

"Yes... Wait, are you MOCKING me?" 

"Ah... Duh." 

Some people say that all mutants are freaks. Especially telepaths. Which is   
perfectly understandable. It's hard to be easy around a girl that can any   
minute smack you one, for thinking about... well, you know. 

Some people say that telepathy is nothing but a deviation from the norm. A   
nature's misstep, giving people an uncanny power over the electric waves. 

When asked asked about the astral plane some people go into the very complex   
and convoluted explanations. Mostly to hide the fact that they have no idea   
what the hell it is. 

Accessible by anyone, the plane remains a mystery in a   
plain sight. Billions of people and sentient beings visit it in their   
dreams. Thousands of telepaths, psies and mystics traverse it daily. Yet it   
still defies explanation. 

No one can explain why some are so sensitive to   
the experiences on the astral plane, while others can, with ease, shrug off the   
storms plaguing the volatile scape. 

Stryfe wasn't thinking about such things, as he desperately tried to keep   
himself together and out of the way of Farouk's attacks. Mostly he was   
thinking about things he'd do to Cable for letting this moron inside. 

Some people say that Stryfe is a homicidal maniac. A weirdo. And a complete   
psycho. 

Some people are right.   


"You Huff, huff> might as well huff, huff> surrender. No mere...   
projection   
shall withstand the wrath of the Shadow King." 

Stryfe had been somewhat tempted to point out that the mighty Shadow King   
was huffing because he was overconfident and let Stryfe get some digs in.   
However being busy maintaining the shield, he only had the presence of mind   
for a short retort so he went with ever-popular and informative, "Oh   
yeah?!!" 

His battle-honed instincts quietly intimated that perhaps the   
statement wasn't as eloquent as it seemed, so the Stryfe, after a second's   
thought added venomously, "And I am not a flonqing projection, you oaf." 

"Are too." 

"Am not." 

"Are too!" 

"Am NOT!" 

"TOO!" 

"NOT!" 

"Boys, boys, boys. Really now..." 

There is nothing like fondly patronizing woman's voice in the middle of what   
just a second before had been a serious argument, to make one feel like a   
complete moron. It never fails. Scary really. 

It was rather amazing, Farouk thought, that the rather pretty and melodious,   
in his opinion, voice succeeded where a severe psionic beating failed.   
Stryfe moaned softly and his face assumed the expression commonly reserved   
for the moment one bites into a lemon, "Ohhh nooooo..." 

Farouk squinted in the general direction from whence the voice came. The   
shadows concealed it (of course), but it was obvious that the woman was   
approaching them and would be visible in seconds. And in fact so it was. 

Mere moments after Stryfe's remark, the mists parted to reveal a green-eyed   
redhead of about average height. Bearing a slight resemblance to Jean   
Summers, or so it seemed to Farouk. In any case a quite comely specimen of   
womanhood. Certainly nothing to warrant Stryfe's reaction. Turning to the   
latter Farouk frowned puzzledly, "What? You know her or something?" 

Squinting tiredly, Stryfe grimaced and rubbed his aching jaw. "Sort of...   
Hello, Mother." 

"Stryfe, dear. Who is your friend?" 

"Funny, Maddie. Really. Hilarious." 

Farouk coughed politely to redirect the attention back to himself, "You sort 

of know her or she's sort of your mother?" 

"Yes." 

"What is that sup... Never mind. I don't care. I'll just kill you both. And   
anyway stop with the bull. You can't have a mother. You are just a product   
of s sick, sick mind. A projection. This boy obviously had a traumatic   
childhood. When he wakes up I am taking Dayspring to see that doctor in New   
York." 

"Defensive projection?" Madelyne was plainly curious.. 

"I AM NOT A FLONQING CONSTRUCT !! SHE IS!" Stryfe 's face started to achieve   
an unhealthy shade of red. 

"Worse still, you see, lovely lady," Farouk ignored Stryfe, talking   
exclusively to Madelyne in an impeccable manner of Persian gentleman of   
finest breeding, "it is a somewhat *delusional* defensive projection.   
Probably just a first try. Glitches, you know." 

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Stryfe turned back to Maddie and demanded   
in a tightly controlled voice "Can you possibly think of anyone LESS likely   
to defend Nathan's mind?" 

Madelyne looked at the pair before her and eloquently raised an eyebrow in   
Farouk's direction. 

Stryfe sighed. "BESIDES him." 

"Well, why in Allah's name would you attack me otherwise?" Farouk pointed   
out. 

"Umm could it be because you woke me up with a 'MUAHAHA,' you idiot?!! You   
waltz into my crib, Muahaha and what... did you expect me to give you a   
welcome party?" 

"Hey, hey, hey. If you are not a projection you are as much as squatter as I   
am! So... shut it, boy." 

"Yessss. But there is an important philosophical difference between us,   
Farouk." 

The Shadow King smirked faintly, "What? You use your power for Good, not   
Evil?" 

"No. I was here first!" 

As the argument entered yet another stage with no end in sight, Maddie   
sighed softly and hit both men with a psychic equivalent of a cold shower,   
"Shut. Up." 

"Aiiiii. Youuuuu... youuuuu... wench!" 

"Hey! That's no way to talk to your mother!" 

"Shut up, Farouk! What do you know?!" 

"His manners apparently. Unlike someone I could name..." 

Stryfe transferred his glower at Maddie, "You are taking his side? I should   
have known..." 

"What is that supposed to mean?!" 

"Oh come on... Mom. You are made from the same genes as _her_ after all." 

The sound that came from Madelyne could perhaps be described as a gasp.   
Maybe. More like a snarl of pure venom, but that couldn't be. Not Madelyne.   
Nah. 

"Umm... Pardon me. Her who?" 

"Shut up, Farouk." Madeline apparently regained her composure and was   
currently advancing on Stryfe with murder in her eyes. "I can't believe you   
compared me to that... that... bitch!" 

"Her who?!" 

"Shut up, Farouk."   
Stryfe shrugged, the lazy gesture belied by the wariness with which he   
followed Maddie's approach, "if the shoe fits..." 

"HER WHO?!!!" 

"JEAN F*cking Summers! Now will you shut up and let me kill that ungrateful   
excuse for a relative?!!" 

"A very distant relative. And what am I supposed to be grateful for?" 

"Why I never..." 

Farouk shook his head and threw the manners to the wind. "OK! Before either   
one of you says another word, tell me this. Are you his mother or not?! Yes   
or no?!" 

*** 

Some time later... 

"My heads hurt... I mean, my head hurts." Stryfe voice sounded a little off,   
from talking and occasionally screaming, for the last hour. 

"You don't have a head," Madelyne pointed out a little spitefully, if   
accurately. 

"Witch." 

"Brat." 

"Wait. Wait-wait-wait. So let me get this straight - Philip begat   
Christopher. Christopher begat Scott and Alex. But Alex doesn't count.   
Silence, Madelyne, I am on a roll here. Scott begat Cable, and Nate Grey in   
alternate dimension. Cable, indirectly begat, Stryfe. Meanwhile Cable's been   
killed and came back. Stryfe has been killed and came back as a voice in   
Cable's head. Madelyne is in fact Jean's clone, who appeared when Jean was   
killed but wasn't really dead and later was reincarnated. And Madelyne was   
eventually killed, resurrected, killed, brought back by Nate Grey, killed   
again by her own double from a parallel earth. Is that it?" 

"By gum, I think he got it." Stryfe, though faintly sarcastic, sounded   
somewhat impressed. 

"More or less, yeah. Rather less than more, but not bad for a first try..." 

"Hold it. If you are Madelyne, than why are you alive?" Farouk pointed an   
accusing finger at Maddie, his brain firmly squashing the tiny voice that   
whispered that with this family - perhaps ignorance is bliss. 

"I am not alive, strictly speaking..." 

"Just. Answer. The. Question." The Shadow Kinfg twitched a little as the   
tiny voice laughed sarcastically. And ran off singing tauntingly, 'Tolja so,   
tolja so.' 

"My, my. Testy isn't he?" Stryfe appeared to have recovered by his earlier   
bout with Farouk and seemed to be well on his way to his usual charming   
self. 

"Don't try to be glib, dear. You don't have the gift for it. And besides   
have some compassion. The man just had a compressed course in Summers   
genealogy." Turning to the quietly fuming Shadow King, Madelyne smiled   
sweetly, "Do you think I am an idiot you pompous, overbearing, misogynic   
pig? Do you think I am clumsy? Or stupid? Hm?" 

"Umm..." 

Stryfe winced sympathetically and mouthed something, quickly assuming an   
innocent expression when Maddie wheeled around to glare at him. As far as   
Amahl could make it out he said, "Just Say No." Since that seemed as a   
prudent course of action at the moment... 

"No." As the lady turned around narrowing her eyes at him the Shadow King   
swallowed a whimper and firmly added, "Nono. Not at all. You are   
exceptionally smart. And graceful. Really. Honest." 

Madelyne's eyes narrowed another fraction of an inch as behind her Stryfe   
facepalmed muttering, "Just say No. What is so hard about that instruction?   
Don't elaborate. Don't compliment. Just say No." 

Fixing the portly man with her cat-glare, the former Black Queen neared him   
and poking him in the chest with her finger, clearly enunciated, "Do. Not.   
Patronize. Me." Overriding Amahl's attempt to reassert the control over the   
situation, she continued, still poking him in the ribs. Which was quite   
painful actually. 

"I'm not some bungling amateur, mister. Far from it, in fact. I'll have you   
know that I was created by the most powerful mind on this planet. If not the   
whole universe. I might not be equal to my boy, Nate, but rest assured - I   
have more than enough power and skill as to not to be offed by some bimbo   
from the NeverNever Land. Even if she is the cheap knock-off of myself. Am I   
clear?" 

"But I jus.." 

"AM. I. CLEAR?" 

"Yes, ma'am." 

The sound of applause broke the uncomfortable pause. Uncomfortable for all   
concerned. Farouk was intensely aware of how silly he looked being bullied   
by a woman half his size. The calmed down Maddie realized that she was   
poking The Shadow King. Stryfe was... All right. The applause broke the   
pause that was uncomfortable for all, except Stryfe. 

"Brava. Bravissimo!! A marrrrvelous performance. Truly spectacular. A bit   
overdone and self-important, but well-done nevertheless." 

Even though Farouk, as he would readily admit, had no idea of the identity   
of the new arrival, he nevertheless wholeheartedly agreed with Stryfe. 

Stryfe, brought up at the glittering court of Forever Walker, had the best   
education power could buy. He also studied art of war and had the keen mind   
of a born tactician. That's why his analysis was both quick and graceful. 

He said "Oh shit." And dove behind the nearest shelter. 

There are few things that scare _real _ men. One is Michael Flatley. That   
one is pretty much a constant. Others vary considerably... but most of the_   
real_ men, be they supervillains or Asgardians will tell you, there is   
nothing more terrifying than being caught in the middle of a catfight.   
Nothing. At all. 

It really doesn't matter what the age of the participants is. Or size.   
Looks, temper, available weapons. Forget all that. 

The prospect itself is enough to induce a subconscious, gripping terror and   
urgent need to find a business somewhere far away, to most of reasonable   
males. So it wasn't really the fact that the opponents in question were   
Madelyne Pryor and Malice that made Amahl Farouk suddenly wish for a nice,   
secure bunker, preferably on Jupiter. No, it simply was the instincts of his   
long-dead ancestral primates screaming to him to get the hell out of the   
ground zero. 

Which he did. 

He was a very smart man. 

.... 

"Tramp!" 

" 'Ho!" 

"Fat cow!" 

"Oh yeah? Looked at your thighs lately?!"   


Stryfe ducked back under the cover and sighed deeply. Nodding in perfect   
understanding, Farouk offered him a pack of cigarettes he just stole from   
the dreams of some Englishman who went cold turkey two days ago, "Still at   
it, huh?" 

Stryfe waved the tobacco away and closed his eyes, wincing as another   
epithet was delivered, in a particularly shrill pitch, "Oh yeah."   
  


"Witch!" 

"Summers!" 

"Ohhhh! You did NOT go there!"   


Farouk narrowed his eyes in pain. Madelyne was a psionic construct, Malice   
was a psionic entity. Both were attuned to the astral plane in ways no   
regular person could fully comprehend. Alas, what WAS fully comprehendible   
is the agony they were inflicting. 

Cable's mindscape churned with emotion. The waves of acid green and   
night-black wreaked havoc all through the plane and it was already becoming   
a strain for Stryfe and Farouk to keep themselves shielded. 

The argument, if this raging phenomenon could be so classified, appeared in   
no danger of stopping or slowing down. Nevertheless, even when Stryfe   
noticed that the particles of the waves began to break away and manifest   
themselves in a variety of forms, he was grimly confident in the course of   
action. Better to deal with a herd of psionic rhinos than with those two.   
It did cause him some alarm however that 'those two' kept growing. Regular   
Maddie was handful enough. Seven feet might be pushing it.   
  
  


"I threw a goddamn party when you bought it! Finally, I thought! Finally one   
of those second-stingers, annoying idiots bit the dust for sure! But noooo.   
You, f*cking Marauders! Why won't you just die ?!!!" 

"Look who is talking! You hypocrite! What, did you think you were the only   
one who can leave an anchor behind?!! I am a psionic entity, you dumb twit!   
I can regrow myself from a shard as well as you! Better!" 

"Regrow this!" 

SMACK!> 

"OW! Oh, you goin' down. You goin' DOWN!" 

"Bring it on!"   
  
  


Stryfe looked at Farouk fatalistically, "You know... I think we're probably   
going to die in a couple of minutes, when Nate's head explodes..." 

"Much thanks for that update. Really cheered up MY day." 

"You're welcome.... Duck." 

"Hm? Whoa!" 

The battle continued to rage, unabated. The forces involved were immense.   
The skills - masterful. Many a psychic clutched their head in pain. Some   
distance away Doctor Strange came awake with a start and rushed to consult   
the Book of Prophesies. Oddly enough it did not have anything regarding   
purple cows being flung by a 9-foot redhead. The Sorcerer Supreme narrowed   
his eyes and stroke his goatee thoughtfully, "This bodes ill. I can just   
tell."   


The fury of the combatants grew. The attacks became more vicious. Stryfe   
became more fatalistic. Farouk stole yet another pack of cigarettes. 

Finally the battle seemed to have reached the crescendo as Malice emerged   
from under the anvil that Madelyne dropped on her. (What? Psionic constructs   
watch Animaniacs too!) 

"You will pay for this, Pryor!" 

"Yeah, rii...." 

"ENOUGH."   
  


Jerked out of their broodings by the voice, Stryfe and Farouk exchanged a   
startled glance and scrambled for a look. Taking in the sight before them,   
the Shadow King once again offered Stryfe a smoke. Stryfe took the whole   
pack. And if either of them noticed that other's hands were less than   
steady, they declined to comment on it. And in all honesty it's hard to   
blame them. It is not every day that one meets a cosmic entity. Especially a   
dead one.   
  


"I'M PHOENIX. A FIRE AND LIFE INCARNATE. I SHALL..." 

"Oh, yeah?" 

Stryfe appeared to be quietly weeping. Patting him awkwardly on the   
shoulder, Farouk tried to offer a word of encouragement, " There. There.   
Well... I am sure Phoenix realizes that it's the temper speaking. I am sure   
it will all turn out well." 

The fiery entity appeared to be taken aback by the decided lack of reverence   
in the woman before her, " UMM... YEAH. I AM. REALLY! GOT A FIERY BIRD THING   
AND EVERYTHING. SEE?" 

Maddie wrinkled her nose, "Well, ain't that nice. But why did you have to   
bust up a private conversation I was having with my friend here? Hm? Now I'm   
going to have to beat you down." 

"EH?" 

Sniffing determinably, Malice rolled up her sleeves and stepped up behind   
Maddie, "What she said. I got your back, Pryor.." 

"REALLY? I SHALL NOT MAKE YOUR DEMISE QUICK AND PAINLESS." 

"Feisty ain't she, Malice?" 

"I think we can take her." 

"Ditto" 

"COME GET SOME." 

Distracted for a second by a vague, thumping noise, the ladies paused to   
look around. Seeing nothing they shrugged and went back to building up for   
an attack. 

Stryfe drugged the passed out Farouk deeper under the shelter and settled   
down to watch the end of the world, bottle of Russian samogon in hand. 

And it is quite possible that the world WOULD end that day. But that was not   
to be. Apparently the presence of a Cosmic Entity was too much. Maybe the   
presence of three angry psionic women did it. Maybe the scape simply reached   
the critical mass... Whatever the cause, something was triggered and in the   
deep enclave of the mindplain something dark and angry stirred... 

"ALL RIGHT, THEN. NOW THOU SHALL LEARN NOT TO MESS WITH THE COS..."   


Suddenly the Phoenix was interrupted as, amidst a loud crackling noise, a   
very angry Cable burst upon the mindscape. 

"ALL FLONQING RIGHT! I'VE FREAKING HAD IT!!" 

Maddie, waved her hand calmingly, a worried expression on her face, "Now,   
now Nathan..." 

"YES, DAYSPRING. THERE IS NO NEED FOR..." 

Cable's eyes glinted with a strange expression and, visibly calming himself   
he smiled. And produced a very big gun out of the folds of the astral plane. 

"Shut. UP. ALL of you. " 

"But..." 

"No buts. Take your little Club of Undead meeting somewhere else." 

"HOW RUDE." 

"That's it! Get the hell out!! Everybody out! Now!" 

For a split second it seemed to Nathan that he heard a voice chanting   
something like, "Go, Nathan. Go, Nathan! Nathan is our man; if he can't do it no one can!   
Yaaaay, half-metal maniac with a gun! Whoo!" 

Shrugging it off, Cable motioned his gun, "Move it, ladies." 

Amidst some grumbling and comments on his manners and upbringing the   
three... entities exited. Judging by their last words to retire to the   
nearest coffeehouse for a discussion on "the kids today." 

Sighing tiredly, Cable, threw away the gun and rubbed his face. The worst   
was over. Now he had to regain the direct-motor control over his body and   
figure out how much time passed in the real world. And make an appointment   
with a therapist. 

Suddenly a slight noise drew his attention. Wheeling around, Nathan   
automatically assumed a battle stance. The decision he congratulated himself   
upon, when he saw that the figure silently approaching him was Stryfe. With   
what appeared to be a dazed Shadow King flung over his shoulder. Dumping his   
burden somewhat unceremoniously on the ground, Stryfe covered the rest of   
the way and, still silently, grasped startled Cable in a bearhug, "I love   
you, man. You da man, bro. You - Da Man!" 

"GET the flonq off me! Get off!   
GET OFF. GET OFF! WHOA!"   
  


Rubbing his head, Cable sat up on the floor and gave his bed a resentful   
look. "Bastard. First the stupid dream. With Stryfe talking in ebonics!   
Now throwing me out on the floor... That's it. One more stunt like that and   
I'm using you for target practice."   


As the Chosen One returned back to his bed and tried to catch a few winks   
before it was time to get up again, Stryfe smiled nastily, "Oh sure. He's   
talking to inanimate objects and they call ME crazy. No justice in the   
world. None." Finishing the samogon and throwing away the bottle he   
disappeared into the mists of astral plane still muttering under his breath.   
  


  
  



End file.
